To Save You Was All I Knew How
by WantTakeHave
Summary: My take on the season 3 school shooting. Breyton.
1. Don't you dare stop me

Disclaimer: I don't own the OTH characters. Sadly.

A/N: My second story! The first one, Life Goes On, isn't really going where I wanted it to go, so here's another attempt at a Breyton-story. I just rewatched season 3, and this story is about how I thinkepisode 16 should have gone.

Also, if there are any strangely spelled words or odd grammatical constructions in here, it's because I'm Dutch. Please tell me if I did something wrong though, I will only learn from it.

Feedback very much welcome, without it there will be no updates ;)

Oh, 'cover' for this story can be found here: http://img91.imageshack.us/img91/6693/ch2vd0.jpg

**1. Don't you dare stop me**

I'll never forget the moment I saw that gun pointed at us. I'll never forget the moment he pulled the trigger either. But what will always be with me, in the back of my mind, haunting me every night, is that I couldn't find her. I had subconsciously taken her hand in mine, but the minute that bullet went flying, the warmth of it was gone. That was probably one of the scariest moments of that day. We fell to the ground, and it was chaos. People ran for their lives, and they separated me from my Peyton while they did it. Some guy grabbed my shoulders, lifted me up and pushed me down the hall. "Run!" he yelled. But I didn't want to.

I got outside and started screaming for her. Maybe she'd made it outside as well, maybe nothing was wrong. But something told me there was. I guess I'd always had a sort of sixth sense when it came to Peyton. I always knew when something was off, when she needed me to talk to. The sixth sense had just reached a whole new level, when I felt she was hurt when I couldn't even see her.

The bus just arrived, and Nathan and Lucas jumped out. Panic came over me and I ran to Lucas, telling him what happened. Before I knew it though, he was going after Nathan, who was running towards the building. When Lucas tackled Nate, I saw that everyone was staring at them, curious to see what happened next. Whitey was watching too, and there and then, I made a decision. I quickly ran away from the bus, to the back of the school. My legs were thinking for me, I guess, 'cause I sure as hell didn't know what I was doing, or what I was planning on doing when I got in the school, for that matter.

One of the emergency exit doors was wide open. I sneaked towards it, my heart pounding. The hall was empty, except for the scattered books and bags on the floor. I moved to walk inside, but quickly retreated. _Brooke Davis, what are you gonna do when that guy catches you sneaking around, huh? Aren't you gonna defend yourself? _Hm. Good point, me. My eyes searched the area, searching for something useful. I saw a purse lying on the ground outside, and picked it up. It was pink, which meant it was definitely a girl's purse, so there should be some…. Ah! Deodorant.

I made my way back to the door, and went inside, deodorant at the ready. It must've looked pretty stupid, but at the moment, I felt I was quite the Charlie's Angel. At every corner, my heart skipped a beat. I was so scared he was going to be around the corner, ready to shoot me without thinking. In one of the halls, I suddenly heard footsteps. Whoever was running was running quickly towards me. I was scared stiff, and couldn't get myself to move. Then, I saw him.

"Nathan! Oh my God! What are you doing h…"

Before I could finish my sentence, he pushed me against the wall, his hand against my mouth. He put his finger on his lips. I nodded to show that I had gotten the message and that he could let me go now.

"Brooke, what the hell are you thinking?" he said quietly, but angry.

"Eh, I could ask you the same, mister."

This dawned on him, and he asked: "Where are you going?"

"To find Peyton… I don't know where she is, but she didn't make it outside… You going to get Haley?"

"Yeah, she's in the tutor centre… Seriously though, Brooke, you can't do this, it's too dangerous… Peyton will be fine, I'm sure….just get out, now!"

Oh no, I was _not_ leaving her.

"Nathan, listen to me. You are going after Haley, right? And why? Because you love her, and you could never live with the thought of having let her in here without trying to save her. If something happened to her, it would break you. Completely. Well, it's the same for me. If I ever lose Peyton… So, don't you _dare_ stop me. Don't you dare."

I was feeling pretty confident that that little speech had won him over, so I walked away. He didn't try to stop me. When I was at the end of the hall, he called my name. I turned around and saw him looking at me intently.

"Brooke?"

The look on his face told me all I needed to know. I smiled.

"You too, Nathan."

I arrived safely at the spot I had last seen Peyton. There was blood where she'd been standing. Oh my God. I can't describe how it felt to see the blood of your best friend on the floor, after you'd just abandoned her. What if… what if she was dead? I shuddered at the thought. I would never be able to live without her.

There was more blood. It was like a trail, leading towards the library. I almost squeezed right through my little bottle of deodorant as I made my way towards it. The doors were closed. What if he was in here? With her? Her dead body at his feet? Again, I felt so much pain in my heart thinking about that. No, no, she wasn't dead. She was perfectly fine, her nose was just bleeding. _Right._ Right. Oh God.

Extremely careful not to make a sound, I pushed the door open. The library was deserted, tables and chairs turned over, open books on the floor. The trail was also there, leading to one of the shelves. On my toes, I followed it. I stopped right behind the shelve, and tried to get myself together, to gather every single drop of courage I still had in me. Then I thought of Peyt, and there was no longer a doubt in my mind that I was going to go find out what was behind this shelve. Everything for my girl.

It all happened in slow motion, even though I was moving pretty slow already. Ready to spray evil murderers in the eyes, I turned around the corner. Then, my heart shattered into tiny little pieces.


	2. Am I in Heaven?

**A/N: **Oh. My. God. You guys! You truly are an amazing bunch of reviewers. 14 comments, after one chapter? I don't know what the standard is, but that feels pretty amazing to me. Thank you so, so much.

You should know though, that you've managed to put quite a lot of pressure on me, lol. I am the Queen of Never Writing More Than One Chapter, so this chapter was kind of a bottleneck for me, if that's what you call it. I sincerely hope it lives up to your expectations. Nothing spectacular happens, although I added some extra drama, but I wanted this part to be as sincere as possible. Again, it's not long, but hey, it's something!

Please, shower me with loving reviews once more, because it was most definitely what made me write this.

* * *

**2. Am I in Heaven?**

I remember Lucas kicking in that door at Duke. I remember fear and hatred taking me over as I ran towards the bed and shoved that asshole out of the way. I remember that all that was on my mind, was getting my girl out of there, no matter how hurt she looked. I guess had I the same feelings now, only ten times worse. I mean, I'd seen Peyton hurt, but never this… physically.

There she was, back against the bookshelves. Her limbs were lifeless, her head bent forward. Her eyes were closed. And the worst part was that there was blood. A lot of it. A desperate cry left my lips as I ran towards her. I fell to my knees and took her head in my hands.

"Peyton? Peyton, baby? Wake up! Come on baby, wake up…"

I grabbed her by the shoulders and recklessly shook her body back and forth. There was blood on her shirt, right under her right shoulder, and there was a hole in it. I didn't want to see it and focussed on her face. Her face, her beautiful face, was pale, dried tears on her cheek. Then her face blurred, as my own tears started welling up. I kept shaking her, yelled at her to wake up. After what seemed like three hours, but what was probably a minute or two, she coughed, and her eyes opened. The expressions on her face followed each other in rapid succession. First, there was fear, pure and utter fear. Then there was relief at seeing my face. Then, there was fear again, as she whispered: "Am….am I….in heaven?"

I laughed a relieved laugh, and pulled her into the most crushing hug I had ever given anyone in my life, and held onto her with all my strength. That's when the tears really started to flow. I was so incredibly relieved, and happy. She was still here, she hadn't left me because I left her, I hadn't lost her…

"You're not in heaven honey… You're gonna be okay, I'm here now….You're gonna be okay…"

* * *

According to my watch, we'd been sitting there for almost half an hour. I'd positioned myself so that it was now me who had her back against the bookshelves, and Peyton sat in front of me, her back against my chest. My right arm was around her waist, my left arm was holding her left leg, which was badly hurt as well. Right under her knee, a piece of glass was stuck in her leg. It looked awful, and it was bleeding terribly, but what had me worried most, was the wound under her shoulder. That one, not so much glass. More like, a bullet. 

Peyton dozed off most of the time, her eyes opening every minute or so, only for her to move to closer to me and then lose consciousness again. She was losing a lot of blood, and there was only so much pressure I could put on her leg. The bulletwound… I didn't even dare to touch that, scared that I might make it all worse. 

I'd buried my head in the crane of her neck, occasionally placing a soft kiss on it, when she whispered: "I'm so tired, Brooke… Are you tired?"

"I am baby, I am… But we're gonna stay awake, okay, both of us…" 

I kissed the side of her face. 

"Okay, uhm, why don't you tell me story?" I asked her. "A happy one?"

She sniffed, and said, "Okay…"

"We had a snow day. Sixth grade, do you remember? It was like this whole other world just came in overnight and took ours away."

I remembered.

"And you, you came over. We made a snow fort… with a tunnel."

We snorted. True, it was a bit silly. It was my idea, naturally. But it looked so awesome… besides, I think the real reason I made a tunnel was that I wanted to impress Peyton, and that definitely worked. She was so proud of me, even at 9 years of age. Come to think of it, she's the only person who ever told me she was proud of me, and whom I actually believed when she said it. Lucas may have said it to me once or twice, but I always felt that he said it just to comfort me, never because he really felt it. With Peyton, her face would glow and her eyes would light up… She's amazing like that.

"And we stayed inside there all day… and it seemed so safe, like everything was okay. Like everything our world was about to become - maybe we could stop it and stay little kids for one more day. But then it got cold, kinda like now. They're gonna come now..."

"Who?"

"All of them. The reporters, the psychologists, the analysts and the so called experts. They're gonna try to make sense of this. But they're not going to be able to... and even if we do get out of here, we're always going to carry it with us. It's never going to be the same."

No, it's not.

"No, it's not… But we _are_ gonna get out of here, alright? You and me? I promise…"

She touched my hand as if to say that she believed me, and fell asleep again. That's when an idea came to me. I carefully moved from behind Peyton and let her back rest against the shelves again. I kissed her forehead and silently began working out my plan. I was going to make us one hell of a fort.


	3. Because her hair shone like gold

**A/N: **Again, amazing reviews, thanks so much! I would bake you all muffins if I could, but I'd end up eating them all, and while I do work out a lot, I don't think it would do my body much good. Oh, and yes, Brucasgrl15, this is femslash. 

I would also like to take this opportunity to tell y'all something about love. That's right, love. The thing is, I went to look for a beta-reader here on FF, as I was feeling unsure about some of my writing in this chapter, but I was taken aback by some of them, who had something similar to "No slash! Ew! It's creepy!" on their profile. Frankly, it pains me to read this. Love is love, regardless of sex. I know you're all entitled to your own opinion, but I just thought I'd let you know how I felt about this. Please don't be offended. 

For all of those agreeing with me, here's the third chapter! Have fun reading! Again, don't hesitate to contact me if anything's wrong with the spelling/grammar/punctuation.

* * *

**3. Because her hair shone like gold**

I think it's fair to say that I've never touched so many books in my life. I had picked random books from the surrounding shelves and put them on the floor near Peyton's sleeping form, careful not to make a sound. Aside from not wanting to wake her up, I was still very much aware of the fact that there was a lunatic in the building, waving a gun around. All I could do, really, was pray he wasn't going to come in here. And if he was… 

I placed the books so that they were arranged in half a circle, surrounding Peyton, with the ends touching the bookshelve. Then I started piling the books up, until the stacks were about a meter high. Around the _Wall of Brooke's Books_, as I'd decided to call it, I placed some tables, turned over so that the top was facing our fort. Then I got in the circle and sat down next to Peyton, waiting for her to wake up. 

When she did, she looked at the books for a second or three, and a smile lit up her face. She looked at me and said, "Brooke?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's the tunnel?"

I laughed and put my arm around her shoulder, hugging her from the side. "Well, if there's no tunnel, there's not going to be any light you can run to, right? So, I guess you have no choice but to stick with me!"

"I guess…"

She started coughing. It reminded me yet again of how badly hurt she was… We couldn't stay in here much longer, she needed treatment real fast. But I wasn't going to take the risk just yet. I just had to keep her conscious as much as possible, talk to her as much as I could. 

"Why don't I read you a story, huh? Like when we were 10, and you had those nightmares?"

"I…I'd like that…" she said. Her voice was so weak, it was barely a whisper.

"Okay, you pick a book, then."

She closed her eyes and randomly pointed her finger at one of the books.

"You know, Peyton, if taking out this book is gonna make the fort collapse, you're gonna have to build it back up again yourself, alright?"

She grinned, and said, "Whatever you say, Brookie."

Luckily, it didn't collapse. The book looked kind of old, and had a yellow cover, with red letters printed on it: The Colorful Story Book. 

"Huh. Interesting choice, P Sawyer. But why's there a children's book in the library?"

Peyton shrugged. 

"Okay, let's see…" 

I opened the book at a random page. I looked at it and started laughing. It said: Goldilocks. I showed it to Peyton and she giggled, before snuggling closer to me and laying her head on my shoulder.

"Well, if this isn't a sign, I don't know what is…" I said.

* * *

"There once lived a little girl who was called Goldilocks because her hair shone like gold." 

I subconsciously started stroking Peyton's hair as I read the story.

"She was very fond of wild flowers, and often went into the woods to pick them. One day she walked and walked, and was soon a longer way from home than she had ever been before. In fact, she was lost. But she hurried on, hoping to meet someone who might be able to tell her how she could get home. On and on she wandered, and finally, in a particularly lonely spot, she happened onto a neat little house. It was really the house in which lived the three Bears – Papa Bear, the Mama Bear, and the little Baby Bear – but of course, Goldilocks didn't know that. The little girl went up to the door and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. Still no answer. And so she opened the door and went in. She was very tired…"

I stopped as I heard the rhythm of Peyton's breathing slow down, meaning that she had once again fallen asleep. I closed the book and put it away. I looked at Peyton's face, which looked so peaceful, considering all that happened to her today. I felt a stab of pride as I thought of her strength and will to live. I have to admit, there were times where I thought Peyton was going to give up on that strength and that will… But she'd always find her way back, sometimes with my help, sometimes with Luke's. 

Lucas. I felt a bit guilty for leaving him behind like this, for sneaking away without telling him where I was going. But it was for his own good. He never would've let me go in if I'd told him. And there's no way I would've let him stop me. I thought of him, probably standing outside now, with Karen and Keith by his side, and suddenly felt a surge of anger. Why was he not here? Why hadn't he come to try and find me, or Peyton? If I could sneak in, why couldn't he? I know it was wrong of me to expect this from him, but I did. 

Peyton stirred and I loosened my grip on her shoulders. She sat up, and sighed. The look on her face told me something was bothering her, besides the fact that she had been shot and was now bleeding to death. 

"Hey, what's wrong, sleeping beauty?" I asked, concerned.

She didn't reply and just looked at me, long and hard. Then, she stuttered: "Br….Brooke?"

"Yeah?"

"If I say… I love you, right now… will you hold it against me? 'Cause… I've lost a lot of blood…"

I smiled. Of course I wouldn't hold it against her. 

"Of course not, sweetie. I love you too, you know that, right?"

She looked at the floor for a second and seemed hesitant before she looked up and said, "No, I mean… I mean, like this…"

And then she kissed me.

* * *

Another A/N:This will probably be the last time I update every two days. My schoolworkwill require a lot of attention in the next few weeks, so while I'll still update fairly regularly, it will be every 5 to 6 days rather than every 2. Keep in mind though, dear readers, that patience is a virtue...


	4. Alright P Sawyer, that's it

A/N: I'm back! Thanks again for the great reviews! I was thinking, a tiny little author's note is a bit unworthy of you guys, so I tried to reply to all your reviews personally. I won't do it every time, but I felt you deserved it, lol.

Also, I just want to show my gratitude to the wonderful Casandra , who beta-read the whole thing, and give her a warm hug for helping me out.

Have fun reading, everybody!

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**4.**** Alright P Sawyer, that's it.**

I, Brooke Davis, always have an answer. I, Brooke Davis, always know what to say. Except , when she kissed me, my mind went completely blank. There was no thought process taking place, there was nothing, absolutely nothing. Only lips, lingering, hovering, soft…

It was short, too short to figure out what Peyton was trying to say with it. Was it for comfort? Was there longing? Was it gratitude? I, Brooke Davis, always know what's behind a kiss. Usually, it's horniness. With Lucas, it's horniness and love. With Peyton? No clue. But in a way, it was better than any kiss I ever had.

Still, I didn't know what to say or do. I can't just say, _oh, kiss me again, P Sawyer_. I mean, she's lost a lot of blood, but I don't want to give her a heart attack to go with that. Besides, do I want her to kiss me again? Hm. Apparently.

I decided to look at her, as I'd been staring at her shoulder all the time I was trying to think. She had her eyes closed again. I gotta say, I felt a bit relieved at that. I was going to have to think this through very thoroughly before I could talk to her about it. I pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and cupped the side of her face. God, what was she doing to me?

Then, BANG! I heard a gun shot, and my heart skipped a beat before it started to race, fear for my friend filling every thought in my head, pushing the kiss away.

"Alright P Sawyer, that's it. I am getting you out of here. Right. Now."

* * *

Have you ever heard that story about the mother who lifted a car to free her son, who was trapped underneath it? Her fear of losing the thing she loved most in the world caused an incredible surge of adrenaline to rush through her veins, giving her unimaginable strength, which she lost the minute her son was safe. Okay, so I don't think I'd be able to lift a car right now, but I wouldn't have been able to carry Peyton the way I was if it hadn't been for my incredible fear of losing her.

She wasn't even reacting to being carried around, that's how far gone she was. Not even the second gunshot startled her, whereas _I_ completely freaked out. What the hell was going on out there?

She'd managed to sling one arm around my shoulder when I picked her up, but other than that, her body was loosely hanging on to me as I made my way back through the school, one arm under her legs and one arm under her back.

My thoughts went back to the moment before she kissed me. She said she loved me. _"Like this…"_ Like what? 'Cause I love her too, but like that? Did she mean, like, more than friends? How did I feel about that? Again, no clue.

We reached that spot again. The blood on the floor still scared me, but less so now that I knew Peyton was still alive. Still.

I turned my back towards the broken door and heard the glass splinters crunch as I used my back to push it open. I couldn't see what was behind me in the hall, and I wanted to keep my back to it in order to protect Peyton from a possible shooter. They would have to come through _me_ this time, those damn bullets.

I decided the complete silence was probably a sign that there was no one there, and I turned around.

"Holy sh…"

* * *

Oh my God, Keith. The body lying next to Keith was him, the shooter. He didn't look like a terrorist… but he'd shot Keith, and I wanted to kick his dead guts. I also wanted to try and save Keith. I wanted to do so much, but I didn't know how, and I didn't have time. So I decided to do what was most important right now, and I ran towards the exit, a silent tear running down my cheek.

Who knew I was a decision maker? I usually panic when difficult situations come up, and I get help from others. I was on my own now, and I only had split seconds to do what was right. There were so many things that were probably right. Not going into the school would've been a smarter thing to do, for example. Perhaps putting Peyton down and going over to Keith would be smarter as well. What if he was still alive? But what if that decision would cost Peyton her life?

No, I did the right thing.

I walked outside and was blinded by the sunlight. I started to lose the feeling in my arms from carrying Peyton, but before I knew it, the weight of her body was gone.

"No, Peyt … Careful, don't hurt her…" I said, but everything was blurry and chaotic, as a dozen heavily armed policemen surrounded me.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"Come with me, ma'am…"

"Don't worry, ma'am, you're gonna be fine…"

"Ma'am?"

I didn't react, as I saw Lucas standing a few metres away, Karen by his side. He looked at me, concerned. He let go of Karen and said, "Brooke, are you okay? What happened? How's Peyton?"

He pulled me close and hugged me. I gently pushed him away as I said, "You should go in, Luke. It's Keith."

Confusion crossed his face, but when he understood what I was saying to him, it was replaced by fear and sorrow. He shook his head and looked away. "No, no… he's not…"

"I'm sorry, Lucas…"

I touched his shoulder, before walking away, back to the men who'd taken Peyton. It hurt me to leave Lucas like this, but I had to…

"Ma'am?" one of the policemen asked.

"Yeah, I'm going with her" I said, as I nodded towards the ambulance, in front of which they were placing Peyton on a stretcher.

"I'm sorry, ma'm, we have to ask you questions, you have to go to…"

"No, you don't get it. I. Am going. With her."

I gave him one of my many Brooke Davis looks, the one that said "don't you say no to me or I'll kick your ass".

He nodded. "Alright ma'am, follow me."


	5. It's complicated

**A/N: **First off, a sincere apology for this late update to all of you desperately wanting to read more. School work ended up getting the best of me, but I'm pretty sure I've dealt with most of it for a while.

Thanks to Casandra for taking out the errors, and thanks to Breyton fanvid-makers on Youtube for inspiring me to work harder on my homework (which includes Casandra too, actually).

Enjoy!

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**5.**** It's complicated**

It's just me, Peyton and the ambulance guy, who's hooking her up to all kinds of machines, after having looked at the wounds. I didn't even ask him if they were bad, probably scared of the answer.

"We'll be there in 3 minutes, Miss", he says.

I nod, knowing that they are the most important 3 minutes of Peyton's life. They will either be enough, or…

"Can I, like…hold her hand?" I ask hesitantly.

"Of course", the middle-aged man says as he works on Peyton's shoulder, holding a sort of cloth to the wound. He looks at me as I carefully reach out my hand and grab Peyton's. I shudder at the cold feel of it, and start rubbing the back of it with my thumb, perhaps hoping this will warm it up.

"You her girlfriend?"

I look at the man, slightly taken aback. Her confession and the kiss flash before my eyes again.

"No", I said. Whoa, Brookie, why did you feel disappointment saying that? I push the feeling away and look at the man again. "It's complicated."

He nods politely and checks a tiny monitor. I look at Peyton's face, an array of feelings I can't really place passing through me, until we arrive at the hospital and they take her away from me, into a hallway I'm not allowed to enter. Please, let her be safe, please let her come back to me. "Please."

* * *

A pile of magazines rests on the table, untouched. My tearstained eyes cause the covers to look like they've been written in blurry Chinese combined with Russian and Greek. Instead, I focus on the clock. Seconds tick away, turning into minutes, turning into a painful, frightening hour.

I still don't get it, what happened to us today. It all seems so unreal. A shooting, at our school. Our supposed safe haven. Well, I guess not. Will I ever be able to go there without being reminded of that bullet, passing through glass doors, only to be stopped by the flesh and bone of my best friend? I guess not.

I bury my head in my hands, only to jump at the feeling of something hard touching my face. I look at the palm of my hand and only now realise there's dried blood on it. Her blood. My hand starts to shake, I start to panic. Finally, panic! This calm side of me was seriously starting to worry me.

I run to the bathroom and feel the people stare at me as I fly past them. A nurse calls after me, but I ignore her. I get the water running, and frantically try to wash away the blood. A red-coloured flow runs down the drain, and I want it gone, away, done with, and get the water to run faster. After a minute or ten I start to lose feeling in my hand and realise it's probably okay now.

When I get back to the waiting room, I finally see a familiar face. Thank God. He sees me and gets up from his seat, quickly making his way towards me. I crush into him, sobbing loudly, repeating the words "I'm sorry" as often as I can.

"It's alright, shh. She'll be fine Brooke. Our girl will always be fine."

This man is so awesome. Papa Peyton, always more of a father to me than mine ever was.

* * *

I sigh and let my head fall back until it rests on the wall. This is taking too long. It's been an hour and 15 minutes now…

I look at Larry, who's sitting next to me,elbows on his knees, head in his hands.There's been an anxious silence between us, and I want to break it.

"I'm sorry I lost her."

He looks at me sideways, confusion showing on his face.

"When that guy shot at us, there's was just so much chaos, and… I wanted to look for her, but I couldn't…"

He touches my knee, and shushes me.

"Then why did I hear that you carried her out of the school?"

He looks at me for a few seconds, before he realises what I did.

"You went back in for her…"

He looks at the floor as his hand leaves my knee.

"Thank you, Brooke… really, I can't express how thankful I am for that, but…"

But what? He looks at me, and I'm confused as to why there's anger on his face.

"But don't you _ever_ do something like that again, okay? Don't you ever risk your life like that. It was for a wonderful reason Brooke, but what if you had died saving Peyton, huh? How do you think she would've felt about that? She would never have been able to cope with the guilt of living because you died. What if she'd made it on her own, knowing that you are safe?"

His words haven't really sunken in yet, as I reply harshly: "What if she hadn't?"

We stare at each other, knowing how complicated the situation is. Yes, I did a stupid thing, but it was worth it, wasn't it? Why couldn't he see that? I saved his daughter, for god's sake!

He smiles at me softly, and briefly touches my face.

"I'm glad you're okay Brooke, and I'm grateful for what you did, don't get me wrong. It's just… what I'm trying to say is… I care about you, okay? You're like a daughter to me, and I don't want to lose Peyton _and_ you… not ever."

Did I mention that this man is awesome?

* * *

Suddenly, the doors open, and I look up, hopeful that it's a doctor, coming to tell us Peyton's going to be fine. Sadly, it's not a man in a white coat, but two men in police uniforms. They look around the waiting room, and rest their eyes on me.

"Brooke Davis?"

I nod and look at Larry. He smiles reassuringly.

"We were told we could find you here, Miss Davis, and we'd like to speak to you for a minute or two, if that's alright."

I nod again, even though I really, really don't want to leave this room right now. I get up and follow the two men into the hallway.

They ask me a few questions, mainly about the shooter, and write down my answers. What he looked like, how he acted, if I knew him… why I was inside, what I was doing there.

"I eh, I went in, right after the evacuation, I guess…"

"You went _in_?" asks one of them, surprised. "You mean, you weren't already in when it happened?"

"Well, I was in when he fired the gun, but I ran out… then, when I was outside, I saw that my friend Peyton was gone… so I went back."

The men look at me as if I'm crazy, which is understandable.

"You went back in for your friend?"

"Yeah. She's… very important to me."

The taller of the two looks at his colleague before looking at me again, saying: "If they hear about this, you'll be an even bigger hero, Miss Davis."

"I'm sorry? They?"

"The media. You're all over the news, ma'am. Some kid filmed you coming out of the school on his mobile phone, and it's on practically every channel. You carrying that girl, your friend. They found out who you are, and it said "Brooke Davis – High School Heroine" on the last news bulletin I saw."

I look at him, shocked. This is all becoming too much. I want to ask the officers if I can go now, because I want to go back to Peyton's dad and sit with him. I don't have to though, as I'm interrupted by the door to the waiting room opening, revealing Larry. He nods towards the policemen apologetically, before turning towards me.

"It's the doctor, Brooke, he's got news. You coming with me?"

Hell yes.


	6. You will be fine

**A/N**: You guys, I am incredibly sorry for this update taking so long. I have had a pretty hard time though lately, with a lot of things happening in my personal life that have made it hard for me to concentrate. My grandfather passed away, and as I was pretty close to him, I've been struggling with that for a while.

I decided to continue writing this, hoping that it would distract me, and I guess it did. I can't say how soon the next update will take, but know that I'm doing all I honestly can.

Thanks to **Casandra** for her kind words.

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**6.**** You will be fine**

Here's some advice for every doctor who has an unreadable look on their face when they bring news to anxious and scared people like me: don't. Either smile when it's good news, or look upset when it's not. This in-between thing? Not helping.

Doctor A. Fowler, as the nameplate attached to his coat says, _does _have one such look, which he is now giving me and Larry. Peyton's dad has his hand on my shoulder, holding it so tight it kind of hurts, but it doesn't really matter right now.

"How is she? Is she going to be okay?" I ask, hopeful the answer will be yes.

He looks at us, without expressing anything other than nothing, and clears his throat. God, what is _up_ with this man?

Finally, he speaks: "Yes, she's going to be okay."

I breathe a sigh of relief and look at Larry, enormous smiles on both our faces, and give him a quick hug. "Thank God", he says.

The doctor continues: "The reason the operation took so long, is that we had to be extremely careful removing the bullet. Because of the angle in which the bullet entered her body, it only just missed her lungs and went into her shoulder upwards. It was stuck near the shoulderblade and has damaged a lot of muscle. We've repaired as much as we could, but she will not be able to use her right arm for quite a while, unless she goes through intensive physiotherapy."

This extensive explanation turned into one sentence inside my head: she's alive. I've never felt so thankful for anything in my life, and although she was hurt badly, she'd made it. I still have a chance to talk to her about… anything, anyone. We can still go shopping, or have silly movie marathons and pillow fights, I can still tell her I love her… and I can still figure out just exactly how much.

"How's her leg?" asks Larry.

"It was a pretty deep flesh wound, but it should be fine within a few weeks. Until then, she will need a wheelchair, since walking with two crutches is pretty impractical when she can only use one arm. She will need some help with the wheelchair, as well as everyday things around the house. Will you be able to give her that kind of care for at least three to four weeks?"

"Yes", Larry and I reply instantly. We both smile at our eagerness to help.

"Alright then. You, sir, can come along and see her, since there's only relatives allowed now that she's still unconscious. We're trying to make up for the volume of lost blood by giving her saline, but she still needs oxygen for…"

"I'm sorry," interrupts Papa Peyton, "but Brooke is coming with me."

He glares at the doctor, who looks from the angry blonde man to me, and back. He nods, and says, "Alright then, but just this once. When she is awake, all of her friends are free to visit."

* * *

I'm behind Larry when we walk into a small room, not too far from the waiting room and the exit. I look at the bed and stand still, taking in Peyton's unconscious form. Her golden locks are sprawled on the pillow, and her skin is so pale it's hard to make out her body from the white sheets. Somehow though, she's never looked prettier, and I marvel at her beauty. It's something I didn't really notice before, not like I should have. I make a mental note to tell her more often that she's gorgeous.

I walk towards the bed, which Larry is already standing next to, and I think to myself that his daughter kind of looks like Sleeping Beauty. Oh, what I wouldn't give to be a Prince right now… Wait. Brooke? _Again_ with the inappropriate thoughts!

I turn a bright shade of red and Larry looks at me strangely. He then returns his attention to his daughter, and touches her cheek. He smiles and looks at me.

"I'm gonna go grab some coffee and talk with the doctor some more. You sit with her, okay? I'll give you two some alone time. You only have this visit until she wakes up, I can come back as often as I want…"

He leaves the room, smiling and briefly touching my arm as he walks past me.

I lean against the bed, and reach for her right hand. I wonder if she can feel that hand when she wakes up. I lace my fingers through hers as I look up at her face. I take a deep breath and realise that there will be so many things coming at me once I leave this room, and I really, really don't want to leave it. I feel guilty for not wanting to be by Lucas' side, but somehow I think this is something he needs to go through alone. Still, I should talk to him soon.

I look around the room, which is too sombre, even for Peyton. There's a whiteboard on the wall facing her bed, and I get up to write something down on it. After I sign the message with a fancy "B.", I sit down on a chair on the other side of Peyton's bed, and subconsciously hold her hand again, this time the left one.

"God Peyton, there's so much going on around me… and I can't even really talk to you about it, which is very strange. I always talk to you about everything, you know?"

I smile as I realize that I'm talking to someone who's unconscious, in a hospital bed. How many times has a scene like this been on television? And how many times did I laugh at it, finding it silly and incredibly clichéd? Ten fingers won't be enough to count.

"Hear that, P Sawyer? Well, you're not, that's the whole point. Which is why I can tell you, I think, that what you said to me in that library… what you did? I haven't really had the time to really think about it, but it's been at the back of my mind ever since, and it seems that the back of my mind has decided that… well, that I'm not really scared or shocked about the fact that I kind of liked it. You saying that to me… kissing you. It's just all kind of confusing, that I've realised that, but that the realisation hasn't really hit me, you know? It wasn't, "BAM! I could be in love with Peyton", it was a gradual acceptance of "wow. I could be in love with Peyton", I guess…

Anyway, I'm starting to confuse myself even more now, so I'm gonna stop talking and go. I really need to go see Lucas, and push all these feelings aside. He deserves at least that, don't you think?"

I get up and whisper into Peyton's ear.

"You, Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer, are the most beautiful girl in the world, and you are going to wake up soon, and kick your injuries' ass, okay? And if you're not going to do it, I am. We will get through this. You will be fine."

I move to give Peyton a kiss on the cheek, but there's a powerful devil on my shoulder, telling me to move my lips a bit further to the left, and I do. I close my eyes as I awkwardly but sincerely kiss her half on the lips, half on the cheek, and my face lingers near hers for a few more seconds before I pull away, taking in her smell.

When I stand straight and look up at the clock, which is hanging above the door, there's a doctor in the doorway, a grinning Larry Sawyer behind him. Me and the doctor blush and don't really know where to look (although the floor is very appealing), while Larry walks in, glances at the whiteboard and reassuringly tells me that "it's okay".

I practically run out of the room, but not before looking back at Peyton one more time, hoping with all my heart that she will wake up soon so I can hug her and help her and make sure that she'll be fine within no time.

* * *

Upon leaving the hospital, I turn my cellphone on. Before I have a chance to call Nathan and ask about Haley though, it rings. When I look at the caller ID, I see that I've missed 53 calls. Fearing something's terribly wrong, I pick up.

"Luke, is that you?"

"No, sorry… is this Brooke Davis?"

"It is… and you are?"

"My name's Matt Parker, I'm a reporter for MNS news… I'm sure you've been approached by many others already, but I just wanted to let you know that we're very interested in interviewing you for a special on the Tree Hill High shooting… we're willing to offer a reasonable amount of mo –"

I shut down the phone and throw it in a bin next to a public phone box. As I enter it, I say: "No, thanks. Not interested."


	7. I'll sleep somewhere else

**A/N: **As you may or may not have noticed, this fic has been off my radar for a while. I can't really give any explanation for this other than that maybe, subconsciously, I decided I needed some time to figure out where I'm going with this.

I seem to have gotten somewhere with that, and most of it is all mapped out in my head. Now, how to put it into how many words? I'm still working on that one, and although I don't suppose there will be a great many chapters left, my mother told me never to say never, and so I shall not.

For now, enjoy the new chapter, kindly beta-read by Casandra, and let me know what you think. Cheers!

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Chapter 7 – "I'll sleep somewhere else"

_2 weeks later..._

As Larry and I ride to the hospital, I think about what my life has become. My face has been on television and in the papers, I'm a walking attraction at school, I'm single...

* * *

The evening after that horrible day, I went to see Lucas. He was incredibly silent, even more so than usual, and did not react to my attempts at comforting him, or talking to him. I felt horrible doing what I was about to do, but I had to. I think it was better for both of us.

"Luke? Do you think that, maybe, we both need some time...you know, on our own?"

No reaction.

"Because, I think _I_ do..."

This time he looks up, but still doesn't speak a word. His expression is a mix of surprise, sadness and somehow, relief.

"Of course I'll still be here for you," I continued, "and you can call me if you need me, but I don't think we should be together any more..."

He looks at me, his face now seemingly neutral, but his eyes still so, so sad. Then he nods, and whispers "thank you, Brooke". He says it with a kind of relief, which makes me feel less guilty. He probably needs some time for himself too, and the fact that he hasn't really tried to contact me since the shooting is a sign of this. Can't really blame him, the poor guy has got enough on his mind right now.

I give him a warm hug, one we haven't shared in a while, and it feels right: it's a hug that good friends give to each other.

As I leave his house, I know I've done the right thing. Now I can give all of my time and attention to Peyton, without feeling bad for not being at Lucas's side as well. Although, really, asking me to choose between those two things would be very stupid...

Peyton is the one, and only choice for me.

* * *

We arrive at the parking lot for the umpteenth time in the past few weeks. Everyday, Larry would come to pick me up after school. School was hell. Everyone would stare at me, whisper behind my back, and I felt more like a freak than a "Tree Hill Heroine", as the papers had chosen to call me.

Going to the hospital with Larry was a welcome distraction from all that, even though I wasn't allowed to go see Peyton those first few days. It was incredibly frustrating to see someone else walk into her room, when I couldn't see her, touch her, talk to her...

On the fourth day she woke up, and Larry immediately came to get me.

As we walked in, he spoke to Peyton:

"Peyton? Your biggest fan is here. She's been sitting out there for three days, hoping for an autograph or something..."

Then softer: "She's nuts if you ask me..."

He smiles at me as he leaves the room to talk to some doctors. I turn to the bed, eager to see my best friend for the first time since that day. When I see her face, I make a small sprint towards the bed and envelop the blonde girl in my arms. A few tears of joy roll down my cheek, as I feel the grip Peyton's left hand has on my shoulder tighten. She starts to shake, and as I pull back to look at her, I see she's crying.

"Aw Peyt..."

I kiss her forehead. Her cheeks. Her closed eyelids. I feel her let go, more and more sobs escaping her, so I pull her to me again. I place soft kisses on her shoulder, her neck. I don't know what I think I'm doing, but I'm doing it, and I can't seem to stop myself. Comforting Peyton is what I do, what I have done all my life, and it's what I will continue to do. It's become something I do without thinking, and I always seem to know what she needs. My sub conscience is taking control of me now, however, and it wants me to go further than I probably should, as I pull out of the hug and move in to kiss Peyton on the lips.

She stiffens, and pulls away. She looks at me with big eyes, shocked and confused. Yeah, wrong move Brooke.

"I'm sorry, I didn't... I'm... I..."

I look everywhere but at her, as confusion and hurt fill my mind. Did she forget what happened in the library? Did I misinterpret what she did there? Does she not want me... like that?

"Let's eh... let's forget about that, okay?" I say, and I make myself look up at her again. "Just tell me how you are, how are you feeling? How's your arm and..."

I stop mid-sentence as I see Peyton staring at something behind me. I turn around and see the message I left there four days ago.

_KNOW THAT I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU. B._

* * *

Suffice to say it's been awkward between us. We haven't really talked, even though I've gone to see her everyday since she woke up and I've been with her to every therapy session she's had.

The therapist is an old man who's kind of lazy. He asked me to come with Peyton to every session, but just so he could let me do all the exercises with her, while he went off to do "some other stuff". Great, I thought, some alone time... perhaps I can finally get her to talk to me. Well, we talked alright, but about the weather and the hospital food. I haven't even told her about my breakup with Luke, or about the attention from the press. Larry told her about Keith though, and I'm kinda glad I don't have to do that.

The exercises are really simple, and I or Larry have to do them with her when we get home too. It's pretty much just holding her arm and gently moving it up and down, and left to right. Some time soon she should be able to move her arm herself, or at least a little.

I wonder if she's going to act as strange when we do the exercise at home as she acts when we do them in the hospital. Every time I get too close to her, physically, that is, she kind of shies away from me, stiffens, and shuts me out. It hurts every time, and I feel like I completely ruined our relationship by being a complete ass in thinking that she actually meant what she said in the library.

But then, when we got back to her room after that first uncomfortable session, and we sat by the window... it got better, and she looked at me, smiled a little, and turned to the window again.

Every day for the past two weeks, we'd go and sit by that window, and everyday she would get a little closer to me. One day our hands would touch (and we would feel sparks and quickly retreat our hands), the other day she'd lay her head on my shoulder and sleep. She was starting to feel comfortable near me again, because there had been a strange tension between us I couldn't really place, even though I knew when it had started: on that fourth day in the hospital.

Of course, I screwed up this time too.

On one of the last days in the hospital, we were lying on the bed, holding each other like we used to when one of us was in need of comfort. I'd fallen asleep, and apparently, my hands have taken a liking to wandering around when I sleep. In fact, they wander to places they really, _really_ shouldn't be wandering, and when I opened my eyes, one of my hands was on Peyton's back and the other was on her breast. She was looking at me intently, with a look on her face that I recognized from when she was stuck on a sudoku puzzle and was determined to figure it out. She also made no effort to move my hand away.

This was when I figured out that the tension between us was sexual tension.

I also figured out that she was not a big fan of sexual tension when my stupid, stupid head decided to lean in and go for the kiss again. I guess the moment felt right, but it obviously wasn't.

She pushed me away, turned her back to me, and pretended to be asleep. And again, she left me hurt and confused. What is it she wants from me?

* * *

Peyton hates the wheelchair. She says it's because she's perfectly able to hop around the house by herself (which she's not), but I think it's because it makes her need other people. She can't get anywhere on her own, because she can't turn the wheels with one arm, let alone steer from left to right. She tried once, and it was painful for me and Larry to watch how she bumped legs-first into a closet and burst into tears as pain shot through her hurt leg.

It's her first day back home and I'm preparing a meal, or try to, at least. Cooking has never been one of my skills, and it seems I'm actually capable of ruining the easiest dish on the planet: mac and cheese. Larry is helping Peyton go to the toilet. She hates that she needs help with that too, which is quite understandable. It must feel degrading, somehow, not being able to do something as simple as opening the buttons on your jeans without it taking you 15 minutes to get it done with one hand.

Larry's prepared a room for Peyton to stay in on the ground floor of the house. He came to ask me if I thought it was alright, before showing it to Peyton, and when I walked in I saw two single beds pushed together in the middle of the room. My heart jumped a little, which is crazy because Peyton and I used to sleep in _one_ single bed all the time. It didn't feel as if that was going to happen again soon though, what with Peyton avoiding me at all costs. We haven't spoken a word today, and we've picked her up from the hospital almost 9 hours ago. She was going to have trouble keeping the silent treatment up, seeing as how I would be staying in her house to look after her when Larry can't.

Larry and Peyton come back into the room as I put the mac and cheese on the table. I seem to have turned it into cheese and mac rather than the other way around, but it'll have to do. Larry's holding my bags, which I hastily packed this morning when Larry called to tell me Peyton was coming home, and as we told the doctors we were both going to take care of her it was time for me to move in for a while.

"So, shall I take these to your room, Brooke?" he asks, nodding towards the downstairs room he prepared for us. Peyton however, answers before I can say yes.

"Brooke can stay in my room upstairs."

Larry and I stare at her in shock, but she's directed her gaze at the carpet.

"But, honey," says Larry, "what if you need something during the night?"

"I'll yell."

"But..."

I walk towards Larry and take the bags from his hands. "It's okay," I say, "if she doesn't want to be in the same room as me, that's okay, I understand... I'll sleep somewhere else."

As I walk up the stairs, I can hear father and daughter arguing, but can't quite make out the words. After 4 minutes of sitting on Peyton's bed, the shouting stops and I assume Larry has given up. Peyton is very hard to argue with, and when you ask her why she did something, her best arguments are usually "just because" or "whatever". I don't need her explanation for this one though. I know full well why she doesn't want to be near me.

I decide to forget about Peyton in a more-than-friends way, as it is obviously never going to happen. She never meant what she said in the library, or at least not in the way I understood it. Perhaps it was all in my imagination. The idea of being in love with Peyton has grown on me though, and the possibility of there being something more has warmed my heart. It's going to be hard to push all those feelings away, but if I want our friendship to remain, there's no other option.


	8. You've done something to me

**A/N: You guys, this is the last chapter! I'd planned on perhaps stretching this out for a few more chapters, but after finishing this one, I decided that I quite liked it to end this way. So, please don't be angry! I promise I'll try writing another fic for this pairing sometime in the future. Mark S. is certainly giving my storylines to work with. By the way, does anyone else think Brooke's story is kind of disturbing? And why doesn't anybody notice that she obviously did NOT fall down the stairs? God, Peyton, I'd expected you to see through that girl! **

**Anyway, this is not the place for that sort of rambling, I should let you continue reading what you came here to read. Have fun, I hope you enjoyed the ride (I certainly did) and thanks for the support!**

**Credit for perfect grammar, syntax and other wonderfully intelligent things goes to Casandra.**

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Chapter 8: "You've done something to me"

Suddenly, something wakes me up and I sit upright in Peyton's old bed. I look at the alarmclock, and see that it's 2.30 in the morning. There are sounds coming from the ground floor, like someone's stumbling around. A burglar? I look around for a weapon, and settle on my electric toothbrush.

I tiptoe down the stairs, and silently make my way into the living room. No signs of breaking and entering, nothing missing... the sounds return, and they're coming from Peyton's room. I drop the toothbrush.

Peyton's sitting on the floor, sobbing. Her wheelchair is turned upside down, and she's holding a piece of paper in her hand.

"Peyton? What's wrong?" I ask, as I make my way towards her. I sit down, and see pencils scattered around the room.

She looks up at me, desperation evident on her face. She hands me the piece of paper and it shows a failed attempt at a drawing. She's used her left hand for the illustration, which she's never done before, and it looks horrible. There are wet stains on it, blurring the black pencil lines.

I put my hand on her cheek, and thankfully, she doesn't flinch. We stare at each other, communicating without words. Her eyes tell me she's frustrated, and doesn't know how to work it out when she can't draw, or do anything by herself, for that matter. I tell her I don't know... I just don't know.

* * *

This time, when I open my eyes, I see light coming through the window and I find myself sitting with my back against Peyton's bedframe, My left shoulder feels warm, and I realize we must've fallen asleep like this, her head resting on my shoulder. It reminds of the day of the shooting...

Larry walks in, sees us, and says: "See? I might as well have put your stuff in here..." He sighs and walks out. He's going to make breakfast, and his rummaging through the fridge wakes Peyton up. I fear her reaction to our current intimate position, and stiffen. All she does though, is yawn, and curl up against me some more.

After a minute or two, she whispers: "I'm sorry, Brooke..."

It's not very specific, but I imagine the apology is for her not letting me stay in her room.

"That's okay."

I say this even though it wasn't okay, but I'm really not up for arguing right now. Besides, I wouldn't want to ruin her pulling me back in. I do need her to explain her actions to me sometime soon however, because I really don't know what's going on. This routine of making one step forwards, then two steps back is not making me feel any better.

"We should talk about it though,", I say, somewhat hesitant.

I feel her nodding against my shoulder. "Yeah."

Good.

* * *

Breakfast is pleasant enough, and we spend it making meaningless conversation about who were better, the Spice Girls or the Backstreet Boys. Even Larry has an opinion on the topic, and gives us a five-minute speech on the Backstreet Boys' lack of charisma.

When breakfast is over however, he pulls us (or at least me) back to reality.

"I'm going to be at work for most of the day today," he says, "talk to some people, see how much more time off I can get..."

Peyton looks sad, but not as sad as I'd expected her to be. She does know she'll be stuck with me all day, right?

"So, you should probably help Peyton shower, Brooke, and I'll see you both tonight."

And with that, he's out the door.

Oh, Lord.

* * *

"Is this warm enough? Or is it too cold? Or too hot?"

Peyton, sitting in her chair next to the shower, reaches out her hand and holds it under the water.

"It's fine."

Okay, now the hard part: undressing.

"So... we should probably get out of these clothes..."

Her eyes widen, and she says: "We?"

"Well, I mean, I have to get in there to like, hold you, right? Keep you standing up?"

"You do?"

"Can you stand on that leg?"

"Yes."

"You can?"

"No."

"Well then."

With that, I strip down to my underwear and start undoing Peyton's pants. I'm trying to keep myself together and act like nothing weird is about to happen, but in reality, I'm wondering how I'm supposed to get over this crush when we have to shower together, all naked and really close to eachother, in a small, steamy, soapy, sexy... See? My mind's already in the gutter.

A few minutes later, all of our clothes are on the floor and I'm hauling her out of her chair, into the shower. She's a bit wobbly at first, but I steady her, hands on her hips, and let the hot water envelop us.

I've given up trying to avoid intimacy at this point: there's no way that's going to work. Keeping your distance in a space that hardly covers four square feet is impossible, not to mention the fact that I'm sharing that space with a gorgeous blonde, who oh!, seems to be asking me something...

"Brooke? Hello? Br..."

"Yeah? What? Sorry..."

"Uhm, could you do my back, maybe?"

Yes!

"Oh, yeah, sure."

I put soap on my hands and realize that Peyton can't really turn around without falling over, and since my hands are all slippery with soap, I wouldn't be of much help. So, we stand facing each other as I move closer and put my arms around her waist. As my hands touch her skin, she shivers, and I, mistaking this for being a sign of cold, move closer still. I rest my forehead on her shoulder, and before I know it, I feel her left hand on my waist. It moves up, and up, until we're practically hugging. I forget about my soapy task, I forget about forgetting my crush, I forget about the awkwardness...

She's hugging me, she's touching me, she's not shying away from me, she's...

And I feel at peace.

* * *

Having returned just in time to grab some pizza slices before I ate them all, Larry has gone to bed. He had a tough day: he's been told he'll only get another week off.

Peyton and I are on the couch in the living room, staring at the television screen. I don't suppose either of us is actually watching whatever show is on though, as we keep glancing at eachother every few seconds. We both know that talk is about to come up, but I'd rather not start, and nor does she.

She's made some progress since the shower this morning: she's no longer pretending that she doesn't need help. No more angry growling when you try to help her, no more grumpy mumbling... she's actually letting me take care of her, and I'm very thankful for it.

The silence, though at first relatively peaceful, has become awkward and painful. I decide to end it, and blurt out: "Why did you kiss me?"

Her head shoots up, and she looks at me in shock. She probably hadn't expected such as direct, confronting question, and to be honest, neither had I.

She's searching for the right words, and I wait patiently. I have no high hopes of her answer, and as her actions over the past few days have proved, the chances that it'll be "Because I've been in love with you all my life" are slim to say the least.

"Because it felt right, I guess..." she finally says.

"It felt right?"

"Yeah, I mean, as I was sat there in that library, I sort of though about my life... what happened, the people that were in it, or are in it... and I found that you were there every single time something big happened. You were like...the constant, _my_ constant. And I wanted to thank you for that, but I felt that words wouldn't do what you did for me justice..."

Now it was my time to search for the right words. I mean, obviously, I was flattered, but also disappointed that apparently, the kiss was a friendly one after all. I had to get it off my chest that it had felt otherwise...

"But, before you kissed me, you said it was 'like this'... Like what?"

She turns towards the tv, and sighs. "I don't know," she whispers.

"You don't know? Well, that's just great. Because you know what, Peyton? You have been confusing the hell out of me, and now it's all okay, because you don't know!"

I was starting to let frustration take me over, but I tried to calm myself down and continued in a more quiet tone.

"It's just... you've done something to me, P. Sawyer, ever since that day in the library... I thought you meant that you liked me as more than a friend, or something. And I guess that in the past few days, I started to like that feeling and... return it."

I looked up to see Peyton's reaction, but she was still staring at the screen, or through it, maybe.

"But after you woke up in the hospital, you didn't even let me come near you, or touch you. And I started to think I was wrong, that you hadn't meant what you said... Then, when we came home, and you told Larry to put my stuff in your old room, I decided to forget that I'd ever thought of you as more than my best friend. I mean, you were giving me nothing but signs that you wanted to be as far away from me as possible, and I know it's my own fault, because I tried to kiss you... but it still hurt."

Finally, she shows a sign of life and looks up at me again. There's a tear rolling down her right cheek, and while I continue talking, I wipe it away with my thumb. My hand lingers there, and she closes her eyes.

"So, this morning, you made it really, really hard for me to start forgetting my...attraction to you."

I smile, and say: "You just looked so... beautiful."

She opens her eyes again and looks at me. She moves her hand up to where mine is still cradling her cheek, and laces her fingers through mine. We look at each other for a while, me no longer knowing what to say, she on the verge of speaking.

"I was scared," she whispers.

"What, of me?"

"No, of hurting you... I mean, you risked your life for me, Brooke. That day? I could have gotten you killed. You could have been shot, and it would have been my fault, because you would have been there for _me_, because you cared about _me_. I don't want anybody to care about me so much that they risk their life for me, I'm just... I'm not worth it."

God, how can she think that? I move closer to her and give her hand a soft squeeze.

"Yes you are, P. Sawyer, yes you are... I would do it again, and again, and again... I mean, who wouldn't, when they get such a hot kiss as a reward?"

We both laugh at this, and it's truly wonderful to see her smile. I haven't seen her do that in a long time...

"Yeah, about that kiss..." she starts. "I did mean it though. Loving you 'like this'... You didn't get it wrong."

But then, why the weird tension?

"But then, why the weird tension?" I ask, curious.

"Because of so many reasons, Brooke... if we were to become more than friends, what if it goes wrong? What'll be left of our friendship then? I don't want to risk losing you, B. Davis... And everyone who has a relationship, risks breaking up. We would lose so much... I don't know what I would do..."

Yeah, me neither.

"And what I said before, about me not wanting anybody to risk their lives for me... Oh, not to mention Lucas. I mean, you're his girlfr..."

"We broke up."

"You did what?"

"We broke up, a couple of days ago. We both needed space, and time... and I wanted to be here for you, to support you, and..."

"You broke up because of me?"

"No, not just because of you, there were other reasons too... but partly, yeah. I mean, I had to. How can I stay in a relationship with him when I'm in love with someone else?"

There, I said it. I'm in love with her. Terribly, utterly, painfully in love with Peyton Sawyer. She realizes what I just said, too. The expressions on her face change in rapid succession, but finally settle on something that looks like... content.

And this time, _she_'s the one who makes the first move. And boy, do I let her.

**The End.**


End file.
